(Chapter 13)
"Ignoring the Signs" (circa-1978)
As soon as you walked through the door the unmistakable aroma of weed and the familiar smell of infidelity left you in no doubt that you had entered the Cavendish Club.
As usual the place was full of desperate people, some searching for everlasting love, most of them just after a one night stand.
The events over the last few days had left him depressed and emotionally drained.
The day had started badly and progressively got worse. It started with an early morning telephone call from Stella Mason informing him that his friend, Gary Fowler had been rushed to hospital after sustaining serious injuries in a head-on car crash. Stella said that Gary was in an induced coma fighting for his life, and although he was showing some signs of improvement the doctors confirmed that the damages to his spinal cord were so severe that he might never walk again.
The afternoon didn't get any better. Too many cigarettes and too much alcohol, pacing the floor, picking up the phone and putting it down, trying to build up the courage to phone Caroline Spencer.
He must have lifted the phone a dozen times before dropping it back into the cradle.
He knew that if he made the call her father would have probably answered, and given the regrettable circumstances he wouldn't expect the conversation to be friendly.
The more he thought about the unfortunate incident in his bedroom, he was beginning to accept the fact that he wouldn't see Caroline again.
He was wrong. They would eventually meet up again in 1985, although the circumstances would be very different and a little embarrassing.
After spending the last hour sitting on a stool at the bar, drowning his sorrows in alcohol and wrestling with his conscience, he felt as if his heart and his life had suddenly come to a milestone he would like to forget.
Staring through the bottom of another empty glass, aware that there aren't many things in life that can beat alcohol in a crisis, shaking the glass at the barman in that universal sign for another drink, the sound of a stool scraping across the floor and a comforting hand on his shoulder interrupting his thoughts, the reflection in the mirror behind the bar throwing back the friendly smile of Heather Chapman, her sympathetic voice interrupting his self-pity.
"You look like someone who's just lost his puppy."
If he ever wanted to spend the rest of his life with a woman who came with all the attributes, then Heather Chapman would be at the top of his list. In her late-thirties, Heather was neither attractive nor unattractive, but what she lacked in appearance she made up in her sincere character, a stunning fit body and a hungry appetite for sex.
Twice married and twice divorced. A free spirited 'life and soul of the party,' type of woman, enjoying life, obsessed with sex, rejoicing in her single status and making no secret of her preference for well-endowed men, able to balance her private life with a demanding career, drifting between her many lovers without feeling any obligation to make any one of them a permanent fixture in her life.
No baggage. No conditions. No commitments. No longevity. After two failed marriages and a string of casual relationships, Heather had adopted a new philosophy in life. 'Husbands are for convenience...Lovers are for sex.'
Heather had come to the conclusion that after two unsuccessful marriages to worthless men, her life had now changed for the better. After finding a new direction in her life, she had no regrets and made no apologies for any of her actions. She dated whoever she wanted and slept with whoever grabbed her fancy.
The regular visits to the local gym and endless nights of yoga gave Heather an exceptional body that no one could ignore. She was an extremely fit woman who enjoyed wild, reckless and physical sex, preferably with well-hung men, who were prepared to go the distance.
She often joked that she had been with some men where she could have painted her nails and had sex at the same time. It was also rumoured that after she had finished with one of her lovers he required medical attention.
Her appetite for sex with an extraordinary kinky twist was extremely demanding and clearly not for the feint hearted. And with her preconditions for unconventional sex she could get into positions that made most gymnasts green with envy. During one of their many heated sessions she once asked him to blow a balloon up inside her vagina and when she felt it touching the atrium to her cervix, she masturbated and let him watch.
Heather had a clandestine dark side, often indulging in bedroom water-sports. Her ability to practice urine therapy and demonstrate her skills in the art of 'The Golden Fountain' were legendary. She made no secret of the fact that she was a sexual compulsive maverick, often joking that her bedroom had been fitted with a revolving door. A bedroom fully equipped with a plethora of erotic gadgets and an arsenal of vibrators and phallic toys, she simply referred to as her 'implements of obedience.'
Heather never went anywhere without taking her best friend. 'Trap 2' was his name, a small three-inch long vibrator that fitted discretely inside her handbag. After a lot of audacious practice she had perfected her masturbation technique and would often use her best friend in public place, especially when she was driving the car.
With a little movement from either crossing her legs or pulling her thighs tightly together and applying a little pressure on her pelvis she was able to bring herself to a delicious toe-curling orgasm. There were occasions when she required a little more stimulation to coax her along the road to climax, so a searching finger circling the clitoris would usually do the trick.
